


Returns

by reddie82



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddie82/pseuds/reddie82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your average Aaron Tveit fanfic, because everyone was doing it. One year ago, when someone crossed the Atlantic Ocean to meet someone else on his birthday (the second someone's).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returns

**The Set-Up**  
I was and would be busy in London. That was a given. I even did a weekend this time, filming on a Sunday at the beach - suicide, some might say, but then again, it was a beach in England and it was October. Perhaps it wasn’t quite so idiotic after all.

Perhaps it was for the paparazzi. I imagined Aaron seeing my inevitably touching beach scene in his morning papers - he read them out of care, not of pretense as I did - and smiled, though the American iterations would certainly rather put Rihanna and her Instagram antics than photos of me.

But I smiled, for a while.

I sent a text when it hit midnight - just like any desperately loving friend would. I was at a distance, I was across the pond. I told Aaron, ‘happy birthday xoxo’ at 5am in the UK and went back to bed.

I awoke to a text back: ‘thank you!! :) miss you x’

Aaron learnt to add x and os from me. We did it more frequently in the UK. I reviewed it again and decisively added ‘hope you’re having a great time x’ before I boarded my 6 hour flight, and tried to look discreet in the Yankees cap he’d given me, almost half a year ago. But there was a sharp gasp, and I was found out. I signed and paused for photos I begged to keep private (“BAFTA,” I said, “I’m skipping a Breakout Brits function tonight.”) - they wouldn’t realise the austere smile on my face was the recollection of a beautiful memory that was, hopefully, about to re-materialise.

 **The Meeting**  
I arrived in the afternoon, the crisp fall air of NYC whisking the jet lag from my senses. Aaron would surely be in Astoria, having a good time with his family and friends, till they brought the party to Manhattan in the evening. I had no intention of joining them - I knew how much he loved his limited time with them, and would never take away from his joy of being with them. Aaron was a creature of small comforts and old-fashioned, nostalgic American pleasures. I wouldn’t be a good friend nor covert dalliance in doing so.

I waited. It wasn’t a chore in NYC, I revisited old haunts in East Village, window-shopped in SoHo and even went to watch our old friend Norbert in Big Fish. We shared a wry look of resignation as he beckoned me backstage.

"I’m going to the boy’s party," Norbert said, shrugging on his coat. I could see the reluctance in his eyes as he beleagueredly suggested, "you…wanna come along?"

I gave him a few moments to squirm before releasing him with a “no, that’s alright - don’t tell him I’m here.” and disappeared before Norbert confronted his fans at the back door.

I took the subway to Aaron’s place. The steady whoosh of the train as it went from Manhattan to Astoria always excited me, and I thought fondly of him plugged into his iPhone, head down, used to that vacuum-like motion that popped my ears. I flipped my scripts perfunctorily, reading lines I had already memorised, attempting to discard the scenes I had done.

It wasn’t long to Astoria. It wasn’t long to his place, a route I was familiar with, though in the evening I took a couple of wrong turns before retreating back to the beaten path. It was 10, then it was 12, then it was 2 when I saw his shadow, followed by a couple more. I had checked in with management to remain suspiciously parked in the hallway, and a winning smile reassured his neighbours not to call the police. I was just waiting, I said, and my _object du desir_ had arrived.

They were laughing down the hallway. “Jeremy and Joe?” I mused, leaned against the wall insouciantly. I straightened up when their footsteps came closer, and prepared myself -

\- but I wasn’t prepared for this. I had half-anticipated his friends to tackle me for looking suspicious in his hallway but it was Aaron who came flying after a gasp of recognition, knocking me to the floor in excitement. A light trace of vodka on his breath - caipiroskas and margaritas*, I thought - as he leaned close, arms heavy on my chest, hands locked around my collar.

"Aaron?" I inquired, aware of his face mere milli-inches away.  
“It’s you! It’s - it’s really you!” He exclaimed and ended in a raw whisper, steel blue eyes searching my own for a moment before leaning down to capture my lips.

He tasted of lime juice sugar and cake, of tequila and grenadine, of Bailey’s in a good ol’ fashioned milkshake - and a faint side of his medicated lip balm, so conscientious even on a ‘wild’ night out. I was acutely aware of his friends, J and J, staring - I tried to hold back, leaving my arms by my side, but by the 3rd second of his questing tongue I relented and ran my fingers through his hair, returning the affectionate gesture twice over. It was a while before he finally released me, straddling my waist with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Eddie," he said, almost reverently, and kissed my forehead again.

The sentiment turned to awkward silence soon as he realised what he had done in front of his buddies.

"OK guys, see you tomorrow." Aaron concluded, swallowing and delicately lifting himself off me. He left them dumbfounded and furious outside his door, dragging me in by the arm with my backpack in tow.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry there was so little Aaron there’ll be more in the next chapter - The Intervention, or: there is no next chapter. I wrote it a year ago because I could, and now I have to post it because a year later, I (probably) can't.


End file.
